


Interlude: Hello, Goodbye, and Something In Between

by TheQueen



Series: Pack Relations (And Other Miscommunications) [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Aphelion Zine, Canon Compliant, Drabble, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pre-Series, Zine, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 11:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13247103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueen/pseuds/TheQueen
Summary: The story of Coran and Alfor in a series of greetings.A Zine Piece





	Interlude: Hello, Goodbye, and Something In Between

 

The first time Coran met Alfor he was six years old. 

Alfor was a cad. Always was. Always will be, even now long past his expiration date embodied only in the faint blue glow in the corner of his mind. But he hadn’t known that when he was six.

No. When he’d been six and young and a little bit shy, clinging to his great grandfather’s knee, Coran had been awestruck by the prince. The Prince of Altea. The most powerful boy in the entire world and he’d been there. Right in front of Coran with the cockiest smile he’d ever seen, white hair pulled back in a tight braid and wearing a shirt containing more quintarium than Coran had thought existed in the world. 

“This,” his grandfather had introduced, “is my grandson.” He laid a large, warm hand on Coran’s shoulder and ushered him forward. “Coran, please meet his Majesty King Alcain and his son, the young Prince Alfor.”

“H-Hello,” Coran had stuttered. He remembers stuttering because he’d spent two weeks in the mirror following the incident practicing his pronunciation, reading book after book out loud with the hope that the next time he found himself in front of someone important like the King he would not stutter. 

He’d then dared to step past his grandfather’s knee and bowed, low as his mama had taught him. When he’d risen, Alfor had been there, far too close.

“You’re beautiful,” Alfor had proclaimed before taking Coran’s hand in his own and leaning down to kiss it. His hand had felt dry in Coran’s own sweaty palms. 

Coran had been speechless. The adults were amused. Then the king laughed. Coran was mortified. 

The slap he’d placed on the Prince’s cheek had been far too satisfying. 

.

The next time the Prince noticed him--noticed him because he always noticed the prince--he was half-way through a bottle of beer. It was his eighteenth birthday party. Finally able to legally drink, his friends had reserved a table at one of the bars near their Primary School. 

In two weeks Coran would be off to bigger and better things. The University of Galria had accepted him with a decent enough scholarship, not that that really mattered. The simple truth was, while staying home to study linguistics at the Capital University would definitely be cheaper and easier, he had his heart set on the study of quintessence. One day he wanted to serve in the courts, not as an architect like his grandfather or as a translator like his mother, but as a druid. Even if that meant celibacy and priesthood, Coran wanted nothing more than to study the lifeblood of the universe. 

But that was all in the future. For now, Coran was here with his friends at a bar in the neighborhood he’d grown up in, his first legal drink being set on the table in front of him by a very attractive altean he’d shared Thermodynamics lab with. 

“Happy birthday, love,” Ven’tha cheered, raising his glass. Jack and Toldish quick to follow. 

Coran was smiling so hard his cheeks were hurting. “To the future,” he cheered, raising his glass.

“To the future,” his friends echoed. 

It was in that moment, as Coran tilted his head back to chug his beer, that a commotion at the bar caught his attention. Turning, he stared--foam caught attractively in his mustache--as an altean he’d never seen before poured a large beer down the front of the Prince of Altea’s shirt. 

“And fuck off,” she’d snapped, slamming the empty glass down on the bar before storming off. 

Coran was moving before he really thought about it. 

He’d been there. The day the Prince had almost died. He’d been six. He’d been in court for three days and he’d been only six years old. It was his first time watching the King take an audience. Honestly, he remembered it being incredibly boring. At least the court jester had been there to pass the time. 

He’d been juggling. Yes, if Coran remembered correctly the Jester had been juggling knives when the assassin had stepped forward. All of ten years old. Young. She’d had a gun. 

When she’d failed, she’d turned the gun on herself. It’d been the first death Coran had ever seen. 

It had also been the last day Coran had seen Alfor. It had been the last day anyone had seen Alfor. 

The Prince had been sent into hiding shortly after for his own protection. Sometimes rumors popped up in the paper. Alfor sightings were a popular piece in the gossip rags. Not that Coran ever cared for rumors or gossip.

But now, looking at the beer stained altean before him, it was easy to see the echoes of the six year old Prince in that face. From his white hair to his piercing eyes to the slight downward turn of his ears. “Napkin?” Coran offered.

Alfor stared at the napkin for a moment before looking up. The moment of recognition was instantaneous. “You still have a mustache.”

Coran smiled and shrugged. “Mustaches,” he said as he’d said a million times, “are cool.”

Alfor chuckled and took the napkin. “It suits you.”

“Are you still a flirt?” Coran joked.

Alfor wiggled his eyebrow. “Only for pretty people.”

Coran startled when Ven’tha slung his arms over Coran’s shoulders. “Who's this?”

“Alec,” Alfor greeted. “Are you Coran’s friend?”

Ven’tha took the hand. “Yeah, for ages.”

“I knew him from my grandfather,” Coran finally said. “Family friend.” He turned to Alfor. “I didn’t know you were in town. It’s been far too long.”

Alfor’s smile grew. “I’m back for work. Time to take over the family business and all.”

_ I’m going to be crowned, _ Alfor hadn’t said, but Coran had understood. “That’s exciting!” Coran gestured to their table. “Would you like to join us?”

Alfor tugged at his still wet shirt and shrugged. “I’d love to.”

.

After that Alfor became a constant in their little group. With only a few weeks left, they’d agreed to spend as much of their time together as possible before the universe separated them. Only Ven’tha kept his distance while Alfor effortlessly charmed Jack and Toldith. 

“I don’t see why things have to change,” Ven’tha grumbled during one of the rare occasions that Alfor couldn’t make it and they were lounging in Coran’s house, Toldith busying themselves with braiding Coran’s hair. 

“I don’t mind,” Coran sighed, tilting his hair back so it was easier for Toldith. 

“Of course you don’t,” Jack giggled, wiggling her eyebrow. “He’s just your type.”

Coran shrugged. Minus the royal blood, Alfor was definitely his type, no use denying it. Smart. Funny. Thoughtful. Adventurous. Handsome. Definitely handsome. Who wouldn’t want to date someone like that? But at the end of the day, Coran had no intentions of tying himself to the court this young. 

So when Alfor flirted and sat too close, Coran played dumb. And when Alfor came to wish him well at the port--the ship that would take him far, far away docked just around the bend and the surprise coronation only a week away--they simply parted as friends.

.

Two weeks later, Ven’tha called him and demanded to know why he’d decided to say nothing when Ven’tha had called their now king a  yalmor ’s ass.

Coran had been laughing too hard to reply. 

.

The next time Coran met Alfor, his grandfather was dying. 

He’d lived a long life and had reached the respectable age of 672 years old. But that hadn’t made the news any easier to receive. When Coran had heard his grandfather was bedridden after suffering a life threatening heart attack, he’d packed his bags, wished his friends goodbye--Honerva had promised to visit as soon as she could--before grabbing the first ship back to the capital. 

Coran’s mama, mom, and papa greeted him at the gate. It’s been the first time they’ve been together since he left; their disapproval with his study choices hanging about them like an executioner’s blade. It had only been his grandfather who had understood him and his dreams: the study of Quintessence Manipulation. Coran was fascinated in the many ways quintessence had reshaped and repurposed itself to suit the needs of the many beautiful, breathtaking, diverse species and fauna of the universe. To his parents, religious at the core, it was no more than “the perversion of the natural order." Their disagreements had been legendary in how loud they had grown. Even now, having completed his secondary education and his masters and was now working towards his doctorate, his parents still wished he’d gone into a “purer” form of study like linguistics. 

But for now they were silent as they sat in the cab to the castle. 

The guards recognized them on sight--his family's bright orange hair a clear indicator--and they were quickly escorted to his grandfather’s room. 

It was a nice room. Modest. Something befitting his grandfather’s taste. Coran moves forward as his parents stand by the doorway to take a seat at his grandfather’s bedside. The view from the large windows overlook a clear lake and beyond that the shoreline of another city. 

“How long are you staying?” his mama asked. 

Coran shrugged. “Until he gets better.”

“He might not get better,” his papa warned, gently. After all, it was his father on the bed. It was his father who was dying. 

Coran blinked back tears and looked at his papa. “Then until then, I’m staying.”

.

Soon Coran found himself at his grandfather's bedside day in and day out. Night after night. Aiding him as best he could with meals and washing and bathrooms because his grandfather had never cared for servants despite his wealth. 

(Coran refused to think of it as “easing his passage” even if it came to it.)

One night, as he sat by his grandfather's, holding his old, work-hardened hand and doing his best not to despair as he felt his grandfather's quintessence slowly leave him, he heard the door open only to see King Alfor standing in traveler’s clothes.

"Your Majesty!" Coran cried, jumping up as he rubbed the corner of his eyes. Bowing low. 

"None of that," Alfor whispered, motioning for Coran to rise. "We were friends once, no matter how brief. And...I am no King here. Not with Grandpapa Coran." 

"I did not know you knew my grandfather," Coran said, taking his seat as Alfor pulled up another chair. His grandfather continued to sleep despite the noise; his pain medication was strong.

“He has taught me a great deal,” Alfor explained. “When I first took the crown and was lost, when I was uncertain how to lead, he taught me to remember the good in people, to believe in people. He told me stories of his time at war and helped counsel me at times.”

Alfor sighed, tired. “I owe him a great deal.”

After that it was common for Alfor to visit. Some nights his grandfather would be strong enough to keep them company, to forgo his pain medications. Most times he was not. Rarely could Alfor visit in the day, though, the life of a King often dragging him away to other cities or worlds or simply keeping him busy in the castle dealing with person after person. But still, Alfor visited. 

There were even times when Alfor would call for him during the day. 

Coran was often listless when his grandfather did not need him, his studies having demanded most of his life in the last eight years so that without them he wasn’t sure how to pass the time. Honerva called often, missing him as much as Coran missed her. They gossiped and laughed. Honerva demanded the most relevant court gossip and returned the favor by sharing stories of their classmates illicit love affairs. But they could not talk always and so he was left mostly alone, missing his friends like how one would miss an arm. 

So when Alfor started inviting him for lunch, Coran was happy to oblige. They often spoke about nothing important. First about updates on his grandfather and over time updates about Coran. How was his life in court? Did he miss his studies? What had he done that day?

Soon lunches turned to dinners and from dinner they extended into night caps. They had always had an easy chemistry; it was no real surprise the night Coran followed Alfor into bed. 

When he told Honerva the next morning, she congratulated him on losing his virginity to the best lay in the kingdom. 

“It wasn’t just a lay,” he admits. 

She’d laughed, “Only you, Coran.” She’d meant it as a compliment. She always had. “Best of bleeding hearts. Well… if you land a crown promise me you’ll save me a nice spot in court, no?”

“Of course,” Coran laughed. “Anything for you, beautiful.”

.

And then the day came when Coran was to leave. It seemed to always be like this with them. Someone coming. Someone leaving.

His grandfather’s health had improved. Coran, relieved, was ready to return to his studies and achieve his last degree. Alfor had been supportive, of course he had. But he’d also admitted he’d miss Coran. “And I will miss you,” Coran reassured.

This time when Alfor came to the port to see Coran off, they parted as lovers.

.

Six years later when Coran would return to court once and for all to take up residence as a Scholar, it would be a good few centuries before they were made to part again. 

.

The last time Coran met Alfor it was on the steps of the medbay, looking up at the only daughter he’d ever desired. 

“I don’t understand,” Coran repeated, looking back to where Alfor stood in the center of the room. “We should be fighting. Not running.”

“Altea cannot stand against the Galra like this,” Alfor sighed. “The council has agreed. We have no choice but to flee.”

“Then let me… us,” he gestured to Allura’s pod. “Come with you.”

Alfor walked forward to stand with Coran on the stairs. He looked old like this, in these deep blue lights with the start of a war on the horizon. He looked far too old. “I will not risk it.”

His wedding bracelet burned beneath his gloves. “Alfor… you don’t have to do this alone.”

“I will not risk you,” Alfor clarified. “Once the war is over… Once we are all safe. Then. But not now, not you and not Allura.”

“I can fight,” Coran demanded. “I can help you!”

Alfor reached up and placed a hand against Coran’s cheek. “Allura will need someone. If I am not there then she will need you.”

Coran closed his eyes. He could not argue with that. 

“I love you,” Alfor whispered before pressing a familiar kiss against his lips. His beard still soft even after all these years. “I will see you when you wake.”

Coran fought back tears before allowing himself to be led to the cryopod. “I love you too,” he promised as Alfor moved to close the door. “I will always love you.”

.

Ten thousand years later, three weeks after waking to an empty bed, Coran realizes with a growing sense of grief and resignation that he is growing used to sleeping alone.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Glad I was finally able to post this! These two give me so many feels! 
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think!! 
> 
> PS: I got another interlude piece ready to post and I've started working on one of the main stories for this series! :3


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